Great
by viperdarkness
Summary: Summary: In war, there are those who try to relive their happy moments, escaping reality. Some cannot and fall hard. 8059


**Author's Note**: Hey everyone! And thank you for reading my second… and very long… KHR fic! :D I'm sorry if it is confusing to follow, I tried to make it as obvious as possible who was who. If this didn't work, sorry again! D:

This is an entry for the KHR Romance Writing Contest, so I hope you guys enjoy ^^

**Pairing**: 8059

**Warnings**: Gory images and slightly graphical scenes, Shounen-ai or BL (Boy Love)

---

He took a light whiff of his cigarette, his fingers shaking as he did so. War, who cared about fucking war? He most certainly didn't. It turned people into crazy lunatics.

The lighter flickered on and off, the flame appearing and disappearing. It was a habit of his now to play with his lighter. The cigarette was never lit.

A fight between the Vongola Family and another mafia group had commenced a few years back. It was only a fight. It became a war when the mafia group made a move to behead the Tenth. And now those who were not involved with the mafia were forced to hide away from their battles.

He groaned to himself. This wasn't what he wanted to think about at the moment. He didn't want to remember they were in a war. Trying to keep his mind occupied, he looked at the man lying next to him in bed. The man wasn't sleeping, but stared blankly into vacant space. The man had been devoid of emotion for a long time now. It made him sigh just thinking about that. Lightly, he stroked the man's spiky black hair as he recalled that there was a time where this war did not exist.

---

He remembered that first kiss and it always embarrassed him when he did. That shameful blush he had which made him feel less of a man, and that annoying smile that appeared on Yamamoto's face. That annoying expression and that annoying voice that dared to call him cute. In the end, Yamamoto went home with a black eye.

He remembered their first date. Well, it wasn't really a date, but Yamamoto considered it one. They were hanging out in Yamamoto's father's sushi restaurant, and he was helping out in replacement of Tsuna. Well, at least tried to help out, Yamamoto's flirting was a major problem. The baseball idiot poked him many times at his tickle spots, laughing at the way he jumped in surprise and yelped. Nothing really happened other than that, the only reason Yamamoto called it a date was because he had foolishly shouted out Takeshi when he yelped.

Those were the happy times which he wished he hadn't taken for granted. And now there was this war. Great. Just great.

His mind would not let him take a break from those dreadful memories. And he grimaced as he was forced once again to see how that war brutally beat up Yamamoto's persona.

---

Yamamoto was an enthusiastic volunteer for aiding in the war. They gave him the job as body carrier and at first; he made jokes about it, the dull, grey dead bodies just silly creations from the brain. That was until he had to carry shriveled up children, their bodies bloody and so disfigured they were inhuman. The enemy had forcefully brought children soldiers into this bloody fest. The mothers of these children would throw projectiles at Yamamoto as he walked down a street lane with other body carriers, calling them filthy bastards for threatening their children's lives. The shouts worsened as they asked: Did the mafia have no morals?

He only heard about this when Yamamoto informed him about it. He watched as Yamamoto broke down crying, asking repeatedly, "Why did they have to bring them into this?"

He watched as the crying grew quieter and quieter, the jokes turning to mumbling. Soon all talking ceased. They took him out from the job, but it was too late.

---

The cigarette was on his lips now, but he didn't light it. He looked down at the man lying next to him in bed. The man he loved was lying there like a broken child. And that man relied only on him, the one person who could keep him together. Whatever happened to that annoying smile?

A phone call. Duty calls.

---

This was a disaster, it was a whole bloody mess outside. The scene was just a whole pile of men and boys fighting to the bitter end. His job was to protect the Tenth, but how could he do that when the Tenth was nowhere to be found? He walked speedily into the battle, pushing away enemies and friends, jumping over bodies that had fallen instantly in front of him. Yamamoto followed; he didn't want to be alone.

Impatient and angry, he took out his dynamites and threw them at the enemy. An explosion. The cries of pain and body parts flying everywhere. He wouldn't look; he repeated to himself, he wouldn't look. He trudged on with a heavier weight on his heart, and began calling the Tenth's name anxiously.

He tried to talk to Yamamoto, to help ease his worries. Yamamoto would not respond, but he still followed. This wasn't working, the Yamamoto he needed wasn't there to comfort him. He was a lost child now; he wouldn't be able to find him.

A voice called out, and he looked up to see Ryohei, injured but still ready for battle. The boxer points out where Tsuna was. He was happy finding out where the Tenth was, but suddenly felt dread when he saw the mess he had to go through. And as he looked even closer, he saw that he was going to have to fight some of the enemy's greatest men. He pushed that thought away. He had to protect the Tenth. He was ready to go, but was stopped by a hand on his wrist. He pulled at it, but it would not budge. Turning around, he looked up at Yamamoto. The vacant eyes carried a small hint of emotion: desperation.

Looking away as quickly as he could, he pulled his hand free from Yamamoto's grip.

He knew Yamamoto needed his support, or else he would have to watch him crumble to pieces again. But, he had to protect the Tenth as well. It was his duty as the right hand man. He told Yamamoto he had to go. He began running away, and never turned back when he heard his name being shouted over and over again, the tone getting more desperate with each call. He didn't want to see the face of that voice, or else he too might just crumble to pieces.

This was just great.

---

In the viewing, he would not go up to see the dead body. How could he when he could not say good bye?

Everyone from the Vongola family was present, even Hibari, who leaned against a far corner away from everyone else. Allies were present as well to mourn this loss.

As the people lined up to see the body, he sat at the front, his head bowed down. Guilt was digging into his skin, jeering at him, chanting, "_You should have been with him. You should have protected him. You were such a fool to let him go._"

There was a woman's wailing in the background, but he didn't care about that. Several hands had touched his shoulders, apologizing for his loss. He didn't care who they were, and didn't bother to look up. He probably would have forgotten their faces in the end. He heard a loud snap which made him look up. They had closed the coffin now. Thank goodness, he couldn't bare the feeling of that body's presence. The coffin was picked up now by several men, and Hibari came over to help carry it to the grave site. He got up as well and followed, distancing himself from the coffin. He felt too guilty to even touch the coffin.

The coffin was placed on a machine that will bring it down slowly to its resting place, and he turned away immediately, trying to remember the happy memories of long ago.

The memory of a kiss came up, and someone was blushing, but he forgot who blushed. He tried to image the dead man alive and well, but he ended up stopping abruptly. He realized that he couldn't remember his face. He tried again. It was all a blur. That face was being covered up with a thin white sheet. After a quiet sermon, the coffin was now slowly being pulled into the hole, where it will lay forever.

He began to laugh all of a sudden, and bent over as he did so. His friends watched him in utter silence, knowing that he had tipped over.

Great. Just great.

As he laughed, tears were running down his face. The man he loved the most was dead, and he couldn't even remember his face. The coffin was placed into the manmade hole gently; the only way of remembering how he looked now was through old pictures.

"Yamamoto?" Tsuna said to him as he placed a hand upon his shoulder.

Yamamoto fell to the ground, rocking back and forth, grabbing his hair tightly and pulling it down, wincing in pain as he did so. All that he could think was: Where was Hayato? Where was Hayato?

"Yamamoto?"

Without Gokudera he was lost again.

In the background he could hear Bianchi wailing.

Great. Just fucking great.


End file.
